Wednesday, December 28, 2016

I recall an incident from
2013 when my love was alive and the niggly details of cohabitation were at the
forefront.

We are on a plane for a short domestic flight and a flight attendant offers the
usual complimentary beverage. I ask for bubbly water but Michael declines his
own a drink, saying, “I’ll just share hers.”

Now, everyone knows that flying dehydrates the cells of this precious human
body. Thus, with the prospect of him having his very own free drink but
deciding to partake of mine instead, indignation sets in.

I insist, “No, get your
own! I need all the water I can get!”

The tactful attendant wards off the onset of bad vibes by saying, “I’ll
bring you a can and you can share it.” Michael acquiesces with a smile and
goes back to memorizing the LA Times. (He’s not an idiot savant – just an
incredibly bright guy who never smoked dope.)

I am in the midst of gulping our shared can of bubbly water when another
attendant comes through with a garbage bag and asks, “Are you through?”

Quick as a cat, Michael
takes the can and my half-full glass and hands it over. Before I can utter the
words of protest, "No, not yet,” the garbage bag has moved down the
aisle with my can of soda water and cup forever buried.

Masking hysteria with a calm voice, I turn to Michael and say semi-politely,
“Why did you give him my drink? I wasn’t finished.”

The answer: “I thought you said you were finished.”

“No! I said I wasn’t finished.”

“I heard you say you were finished.”

Now a slight whine garnishes my reply. “I said I wasn’t finished.”

He stubbornly insists, “I heard you say you were finished.”

In the absence of a King Soloman, we go into 'retreat and withdraw' mode and
carry on within our own worlds, an armrest apart.

Karma.

Michael wanted to drink from my cup in an act of collective intimacy and I
defaulted to self-preservation. His subconscious reacted and paid me back by
banishing half of my drink, gone not by way of his gullet but by plastic
garbage bag. My fear of sharing half of my drink brought about the exact
consequence I feared - losing half of my drink.

Despite this aggravating turn of events and my unquenched thirst, the glorious
red desert beneath the wings offers up beauty and wonder...and I chill out and
let go into relaxed goodwill.

At that moment, karma rears its head again, but this time in a lovely
fashion. The flight attendant catches my eye and hands me an unopened can of
bubbly water "for the road," even though cabin service ended twenty
minutes ago and the loudspeaker is barking at us, “Ladies and gentlemen,
prepare for landing.”

Rendered speechless by this unsolicited generosity, I can only wonder: is it
really true that one can ask and receive, even if the road's twists and turns
obscure what lies ahead?